


Coulée

by TexasDreamer01



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Gen, Peri-Canon, kid TKB, soul room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 20:18:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8116075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TexasDreamer01/pseuds/TexasDreamer01
Summary: "Sleep was, oddly, untroubling. Ryou supposed that he ought to be grateful that it was so easy to fall into tonight."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Coulée means cast, mold, and river.

Sleep was, oddly, untroubling. Ryou supposed that he ought to be grateful that it was so easy to fall into tonight. Exhaling deeply at the ache in his arm, the teenager rubbed a hand over his eyes sloppily. Battle City was _done_. He just needed to convince himself of it.

The hall was cold. Realistically, more of a bone-deep chill that settled itself comfortably in every inch of him. _Dreams are like that, I suppose_ , he mused to himself, _Never quite as bad until you’re living it_.

Half-formed memories of the past two weeks muddled themselves at the forefront of his thoughts. Much of it was too dark to see clearly – quite literally. Ryou grimaced at the sudden throbbing of his head that it brought on, _Damn whatever it is_.

“Shadow Realm” was tossed around, and though the term was unfamiliar, it certainly made sense. Those clouds at the duel with Yugi – _No, not quite Yugi_ , his mind whispered at him – made the title fitting. Nothing that…  _purely_ sinister could ever be anything else.

It was with that thought in mind that Ryou abruptly realized that he was sweating. “What?” He muttered, frowning at his surroundings. Instead of the dank, dungeon-like, endless hallway that twisted and turned unto itself a dozen times over, numerous sandy dunes met his inquisitive gaze, “Well, would you look at that.”

This new environment was dimmed by the slow arc of the rising sun, and toes digging into the coarse grains, the teenager observed the lazy tendril of smoke wisping out of an abandoned adobe hut. He let his feet lead him to the mystery, content to catalogue the details.

Everything was roughly the same colour – _Tsk, who came up with that_ – so the pop that was bright green vegetables caught his eye immediately. They sat next to an efficiently stoked fire, rail thin figure feeding a small clay stove with bits of brush and twigs.

He paused, breathing silent as his footsteps, and leaned against the entryway. No shadow from him, yet, so the secrecy of his presence wasn’t broken.

“You walk too loud.”

Ryou shrugged, “You’re too quiet.”

“Not like there’s anybody to talk to.”

The sparse surroundings gave enough evidence for that. He gave a short grunt, walking up and sitting next to the other with a dusty thump, “What’re you making?”

“Breakfast.”

Chuckling, he was reminded of those days when his sister was surly, dismissing him curtly as she pondered the merits of one colour or another for her finger painting. When he was offered part of the concoction that was eggs and sharp-scented onions in a clay dish that smelled heavily seasoned, he shook his head – wherever he was, food wasn’t needed.

“Never got your name.”

Ryou smiled. This was a familiar game, “Never got yours.”

The sour look he received for his efforts just made his lips twitch wider, to which he only responded with a wry tilt of his head. A sigh, made heavy with the dramatic bent all children seemed to possess, “… Bakura.”

“Wonderful, we have the same name,” The teenager clipped dryly, smirking at Bakura’s frustrated look, “Family name, though. I go by Ryou.”

Now _that_ earned him a bewildered look, “It’s an odd name, I know.”

“… Wh-” Bakura gave him a look that spoke of utter startlement, before sputtering in indignation, “That’s _my_ name, you can’t have it!”

“And why not,” He challenged cooly, arching a brow.

“Because that’s my family and they’re all dead now and- and, and I’m the only one who can help them!” He gasped out, choking on a sob that refused to make its way out, “And you _can’t_ have it!”

The force of the outcry made him reel back in shock. His hands curled, white-knuckled, on his pants, “I… I’m sorry. The name is my father’s, and… he’s my family, too.”

When the world seemed to flicker, boy fluctuating in the middle of beginning another distraught sentence, Ryou forced himself to suck in a steadying breath. This obviously wasn’t something _his_ mind could construct. So that meant there was only one other possible explanation for him to be drawn into this… world? Memory? Idea?

 _Egypt_.

He swore, stumbling against the stone wall. It was _always_ Egypt. Tempted to swear again, the teenager thumped a fist against the wall.

“… Okay,” Ryou inhaled, “Okay. Let’s find out where it came from. Desert. Never been to a desert. I think.”

A pause. _Wait a minute_.

His hand drifted to his chest, only minutely surprised that it touched cloth on skin and not the bulky metal that was his apparently erstwhile Item. _**I**_ _haven’t, but the Voice_ _ **has**_.

Which made all the gears in his head grind to a halt. All those years of taunting and ostensibly wayward remarks started to fall into place a little more – and the picture was more disturbing than it used to be.

The conversation with the boy was uncannily similar to the remarks that wore gratingly against his thoughts during the waking hours. “Bakura;” the one word that bound them to each other, the singular reason Ryou could run as far as he wanted and never escape the reach of the Ring.

“But what does it _mean_ ,” He hissed quietly, glaring at the floor. _Similarities, look for similarities_. Ironically the one good piece of advice he’d gotten from the spirit. Ryou rolled the name around in his mouth, hoping to divine its purpose, “Bakura. What did Dad tell me… Not Japanese – can’t be, was always made fun of for it. So… What?

“If not Japanese, then… Fuck,” Swearing dissolved some of the tension, “He said his name was Bakura, too. But…”

 _But, what?_ He paused, closing his eyes to bring up the image of the child. Dirty, alone, and a worn piece of clothing with naught more than a thin rope to give it the semblance of shape. Barefoot. The teenager wrinkled his nose at the memory, “And what did he say… his family?”

The puzzle was damnably confusing. It was important, he knew it was, but picking out the pieces that would give it sense was difficult. _He was crying_ , his mind supplied him.

Rapping his knuckles thoughtfully against the stone, Ryou turned the thought over, prodding at it.

“ _And they’re all dead now!_ ”

He gasped, memory reverberating with a sickening intensity, “… Oh.”

Suddenly everything felt too stretched. Wondering when he had started to sit, he swore, fingers scrabbling against the wall to help him up, knees weak with his discovery. Trying to find his way back in this maze that wasn’t, stomach roiling at his revelation, eyes stinging, was a nightmare.

\- _No, not quite_ , his mind dared whisper at him.

Palming the door to his soul room, Ryou collapsed back into his body. The dim colours were too intense – an arm flung over his eyes, hiding the burning he wished wasn’t there. Too much, too little air, chest shaking as it tried to normalize his breathing.

It wasn’t until his face was cooling in streaks of tears that he realized company was afoot. Fingers clenching the sheets, he tried to still himself, hide what had given to him so ironically-

“What are you whimpering on about this time?” - And failed at the gruff words tossed so carelessly.

“You bastard,” He sobbed out, twisting into the pillow.

For once, the spirit was utterly speechless. It was not the first time his host had sworn at him so vehemently, but the agony the child was experiencing was… plainly unnatural. Shooting the other a baffled look, he demanded, “ _Why?_ ”

A light noise, muffled by fabric, “I thought I could hate you.”

Non-existent feet carried him over to Ryou, peering at him with mystified curiosity. It was reacted to with nary a twitch in his consideration. He frowned, “What you think of me matters not, so long as you do as I say.”

Usually that garnered _some_ reaction, but when the other didn’t stop his crying, the spirit convinced himself to take a closer look. Shoving a finger through the others back, ignoring the startled gasp, he demanded, “Look at me, damn it, and _answer_ me.”

What he wasn’t expecting was to abruptly be face-to-face with a bright-eyed child, cheeks shining wetly in the streetlight from the window, and tangled hair sticking to his face from the rough force of his emotions. He reeled back violently. _The fuck_.

“ _You!_ ” It was fairly shouted at him, coloured tempestuously with unknown grief, “Why? Why are they dead? _Who left you there?!_ ”

Pieces clicked in his mind; he gaped in sheer astonishment. The only sound in the bedroom was his host’s sharp panting, wild-eyed and sight glazed over.

“Who… Who told you that?” He wasn’t shaking, he _wasn’t_ , but twitching of his fingers belied how much he felt like rattling the other, “… Tell me. Now.”

Ryou gulped mouthfuls of air, rocking back onto his seat with a muffled thump, “You… you did. Kind of. I-it was…” He gave a weak gesture, flap of hand to his chest, licked his lips nervously, “Was that…?”

The other grunted. For an elongated moment, neither looked at each other.

“… Yes. Go back to sleep, Landlord.”

Ryou nodded, clenching the thin cover once, before slipping back into bed.


End file.
